


End Times

by A_Random_NPC



Series: Voidsinger [17]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Random_NPC/pseuds/A_Random_NPC
Summary: Sinnlyra Voidsinger continues her training in Pandaria on behalf of the Uncrowned.
Series: Voidsinger [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796173
Kudos: 1





	End Times

Peace could be found in many things, Lyra thought as she ran the shuttle to form another line of code in the bolt of cotton she wove at Master Silkstrand’s loom. A few more lines and it would be ready for him to inspect, each imperfection in the material a word describing the interior of the former warehouse. The gentle hush of the wind through the pines just outside melded with the sleepy bleats of the goats, a music in its own right. She hummed silently to herself, though no sound fell from her lips thanks to the enchantment she had been subjected to her first day there. Even the whispers in the back of her mind were calm today, sounding like tinkling glass being turned over by waves on the seashore. They were soothing in their own way, doing their best to lull her into a sense of complacency. She wasn’t fooled by them for an instant, knowing they were just waiting for her to loosen her iron grip she had on them, waiting to strike.

Suddenly, they chimed, letting her know that she was no longer alone in her secluded corner. There was no hiss of stealth, nor flicker of shadow magic to dim the light orbs that floated on chains above her. Slowly, she arched her back and stretched, feigning ignorance of the newcomer as she tried to catch a glimpse of who it might be. There was nothing to her left, meaning they were either shrouded or trying to use the blindness in her right eye to their advantage. Since the vast majority of the room was to her right, she was willing to bet that’s where the attack would come from. She picked up the shuttle and unwound a few lengths of thread as if she prepared to run another line of weave, considering. Their mistake.

“People will try to use your blind spot against you.” Alvenyr had told her once. He had accidentally startled her one day by approaching her on her right side, making her panic to feel hands on her when she had seemingly been alone before. When she had finally calmed down enough to realize it was him, he had given her an impromptu lesson on defending herself. He had brushed a thumb under her blind eye, staring deeply into it for a moment while she calmed herself. “That’s why you have to learn to compensate, to know where everything is around you in space. Start making it a habit to figure out what’s close to you and remembering it. Anything can be used as a weapon.”

“Even you?” She had teased back, running a finger down his chest, trying to add some levity to the situation despite her fears. It had been one of their rare moments alone, and she hadn’t wanted to waste it on lessons and talk of danger. That feeling had faded immediately when the grin he had flashed her way had been more of a grimace before he’d replied.

“Yeah. Especially me.”

It had been a good lesson, one that Crétin and Van had been reinforcing during her time in the mountains with them. They had started ambushing her at all hours of the day and night to see how she would react, weighing her strengths and weaknesses. Remember that, she reached for the mug of water she kept by her side to sip as she worked, raising it to her lips as if to drink with her right hand while keeping the shuttle in her left. In the reflection of the water, she finally saw her would-be attacker. It was Van creeping up behind her from her right, the warped smirk in the reflection indicating that he was clearly up to no good. With a small smile she whirled, throwing the mug in his face, hoping to distract him enough that she could get away. He dodged it and grinned down at her, one of their practice knives in his hand, his upper body soaked by the water.

“Don’t you harm my work,” she warned him angrily, her hands flying as she signed to him. She blocked his ability to get anywhere near the loom, concerned that whatever attack might come would damage it and the product of two days of hard work. “I am not starting over.”

“Nah, darlin’,” he drawled as Crétin dropped the shroud of shadows she had been using to conceal herself, leaning against the wall behind him to observe. “Right now your work is me. Defend, wench.” The spark of challenge rising in her, she threw the shuttle in her left hand at his head, kicking the bench she used before the loom at his feet to trip him. He dodged both, darting behind her, trying to grab her around the shoulders so he could capture her. She dropped, rolling away and back up onto her feet beside Crétin, who stepped away, clearly meaning to remain a passive observer. Lyra ripped a tapestry from the wall, using the thick fabric to deflect the knife he used to slash at her. There was a momentary flash of confidence when she managed to rip the weapon from his hands that only lasted an instant before he spun away, pulling two more daggers out from under his shirt before darting in again with a deadly glint in his eyes. She dashed away, reaching for a spare beater rod that leaned in the corner, silently apologizing to Master Silkstrand for using a spare part for his loom to defend herself.

When Van finally managed to pin her to the ground with one of his knees dug in the small of her back, she sighed, knowing she had failed the exercise. The knife held at her throat that he had exposed by yanking her head back by her hair tickled her, making her giggle silently, knowing the night elf that held her was trying to cheer her up. Despite losing, she had done rather well. Crétin stayed silent for a long moment but finally gestured, allowing him to let her up. He offered her a hand, helping pull her to her feet as she glanced around the weaving corner of the warehouse, a little regretful of the mess she had made of the normally tidy space. The beater rod lay snapped in three places where Van had broken it with his fists in order to get passed her makeshift defenses. Crétin toed one of the pieces thoughtfully as she went to put the bench back on its feet before the loom. Lyra was relieved to see that besides being a little damp from her water, the bolt of code on it was unharmed.

“You did well.” The contortionist said finally, the words dragging from her lips as if she were reluctant to let them go. She touched the evil eye charm that hung from the choker at her neck, her own blue eyes curious as she asked, “The demon hunter teach you the trick with spotting people with reflections?” Lyra signed her assent, making her fellow ren’dorei snort. It didn’t always work because of angles and lighting, but it was still another trick up her sleeve. “At least he’s good for more than just warming your bed then. Tell her how she did, Van.” 

“Not bad. ‘Course, I have a longer reach on you.” He scratched the top of his head with one of the knives, not noticing or caring that he shaved off several strands of lilac hair in the process. There was a dismayed croak as Flicker drifted down from where he had been hiding in the loft, grabbing his friend’s wrist to stop him from cutting away more hair. Van gave him a resigned grin before lowering his hands and fixing his mismatched eyes back on his pupil. “Could use work on getting your hands on more stuff to defend yourself with though. Look around, tell me five things you could use right now to keep me off of ya.” Lyra glanced around quickly as Master Silkstrand slid the door open, stopping and growling at the sight of the mess they had made of his workspace. 

“Beater bar parts to throw at you,” Lyra signed as Crétin went to calm the growling old bear. “Dye and ink pots to blind you. Knock over the rice barrels to slow you down. Spools of thread and cushions to throw at you to distract you. Kick the rug up to trip you.” He nodded, sheathing the knives again before starting to clean up the mess they had made as Master Silkstrand and Crétin verbally sparred about the sanctity of his workshop in the background. Flicker darted in and picked up one of the broken pieces of wood, carrying it to the burn pile beside the stove with a gleeful croak. His love of the ever-burning fire that kept off the chill that tried to seep in every corner of the warehouse was legendary. Lyra picked up the tapestry she had used to defend herself and inspected it, ensuring she hadn’t ripped it before using a small tailoring cantrip to mend the torn braided band used to hang it. Van took it from her with a grin, using his height to his advantage to place it on its hook again.

“Weaver friend did good.” The dragon said as he passed overhead to grab another piece of debris. “Clever weaver.” He stopped before her, touching his tiny snoot to her nose for a brief moment. Their friendship had come a long way since their initial meeting. “Learn fast, fight fast. Drink time.” Lyra glanced at the clock that ticked away sedately over one of the doors and nodded, realizing it was almost time for her to renew her intelligence potion. Oristin came in carrying an armload of vellum scrolls, stopping when he spotted Master Silkstrand and Crétin fighting before very noticeably deciding to not get involved. He joined Lyra where she stood sipping her intelligence potion, setting the scrolls in a neat stack on the workbench behind her. He had been gone almost a full day back to Dalaran to pick up additional supplies and update their patroness about her training progress. She offered him a shy smile, pleased her calm, studious neighbor had returned safely.

“Got some good news for you,” he said, pulling a set of spectacles from the breast pocket of his shirt and settling them on his nose. “Madam Goya is pleased with your progress. She’s decided that we need to spend a few days in the Valley of Four Winds with the silk masters. It’ll be a good opportunity for you to fill that sketchbook of yours and work on your swimming.” Lyra crinkled her nose at him as she finished the last dregs of her potion, setting the empty flask in a basket filled with similar empties to be washed later. Glancing at the chore board showed that it was her turn to do dishes and laundry, meaning an evening spent next to the hot spring that served as the source of most of their water. Thinking about swimming made her grimace, her struggles with that aspect of her training making her feel rather foolish. Oddly enough she felt much more comfortable in the saddle than in the water. The professor broke the seal on one of the scrolls with a thumb and added, “Rum and Raven send their greetings.”

“I hope they’re well.” She replied, flicking her fingers at him. His lips twitched as he looked up from his scroll, observing her over the rim of his spectacles. It amused her that he needed them to read, though she kept that thought to herself. Van popped over, giving the stern academic a small peck on the lips, making him blush as he pointedly turned his gaze back to the scroll in his hands. Lyra covered her smile, knowing the night elf loved using those small gestures of affection towards his shyer lover to make him blush. After their talk several weeks prior, Van had ceased trying to hide the nature of his relationship with the other two rogues. Their casual trio was effortless, built on a solid foundation of respect and communication. Lyra found it endearing, even if she felt pangs of loneliness sometimes viewing the comfortable way they all drifted in and out of one another’s lives with such ease.

“As well as can be,” was Oristin’s cryptic reply as he turned back to his scroll, his ears flushed entirely scarlet under his tan. Van laughed and flipped his ponytail before heading over to rescue Crétin from the angered Pandaren. The scholar unrolled a few more inches of the scroll, the heavy material wrinkling under his fingers. “Rum was particularly insistent that I tell you everything is fine at home.” From his pursed lips, she could tell already that the place was likely to be a mess. How one man could cause so much chaos when left unsupervised for any given period of time was unreal and only rivaled by Alvenyr.

“Well,” she signed when he glanced up as Master Silkstrand threw up his hands and stomped over to inspect his loom for any damage. “At the very least I have a few more weeks before I have to deal with that particular unpleasantry.” Oristin chuckled, unrolling the scroll a little more, squinting at the hurried writing there. From what Lyra could see it was a notice about an antiquity sale that was advertising several Titan artifacts “rescued from the invasion of Uldum.” Like the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, Uldum was also under siege by the forces of the Void. Oristin had received many missives over the past few weeks detailing opportunities for the Uncrowned to seize relics and weapons that might be overlooked in the chaos. His lessons in how the black market took advantage of major upheavals throughout the world had been enlightening, and downright frightening in some cases. Stories of the several weeks he had spent in Nazjatar “liberating” goods from the naga while they had been distracted by the Horde and the Alliance had been particularly thrilling.

“It won’t be much longer. In the meantime, it just seemed right to tell you that you’re missed.” He murmured conversationally, refusing to elaborate when she tilted her head at him in curiosity. Prolonged contact with the serious man made her suspect he wasn’t telling her everything about his trip to Dalaran. Crétin joined him, draping an arm around him as she read the scroll over his shoulder. The tentacles that peeked out from under her shaggy hair flashed a light green a moment from the contact, telling both of them that he had made contact with fel crystals again to sustain himself. He had been looking rather peaky before his absence, but now appeared more like his normal self though his tan was still fading from the lack of sunlight filtering through the mists. He leaned his temple against hers for a brief moment, color once again rising in his cheeks and ears.

“We’ll leave for the Valley of Four Winds tomorrow,” he announced, awkwardly loud in the interior of the warehouse. Master Silkstrand clapped his paws together, his anger turning to delight as Lyra went to seat herself before the loom again. “Finish what needs doing and pack. We’ll leave at first light.”

\------------

Lyra floated in the silty waters of the Yan-Zhe River, her body sending ripples across the warm, slowly moving currents. Beside her, Syvanel stood ankle-deep in the muddy river bottom, his hands just below her under the water, ready to catch her if she started to sink. She lifted her head slightly to watch a crane in flight over the river, flicking her arms a little to keep herself steady when her body began to sink. Their morning had been spent in the mulberry fields of the silk farms, her head whirling with ideas for gowns and skirts patterned with the red blossoms. It had lasted until Van had gotten bored with playing bodyguard and decided it was time for them to cool off, dragging her to the river for another swimming lesson.

“See? Ain’t so hard.” He grinned down at her, Flicker cheeping with agreement from where he sat well out of the water, his tail wrapped around his friend’s neck for stability. “You’ll be swimmin’ with the best of us in no time. Try to kick a little again. I’ll keep you from floating off.” She complied, fluttering her legs in the water, feeling one of his arms bracing her shoulders so she wouldn’t dart away from the safety he provided. “Good. Remember to kick from your hips, not your knees. Surprised Rum didn’t take you out and teach you how to swim.” He signaled her to stop, allowing her to stand. She laughed silently, wringing the water from her braid before signing her response.

“Not for lack of trying on his part. I could bear-paddle just fine before, but this feels better.” Lyra was grateful that her expanded silent vocabulary allowed her to speak more fluently. It had been two weeks since she last needed the chalkboard and stylus to ask questions, the intelligence potion helping speed up her learning and retention of the sign language. Flicker hissed a laugh and launched himself off of his friend’s shoulder, in hot pursuit after a dragonfly that dipped and wove its way through a clump of reeds. His passing disturbed a family of turtles sunning on a log, sending them splashing into the placid water away from the multicolored streak of color that darted above them. “A druid friend taught me enough to get myself to shore, at the very least.”

“Druids cheat,” Van drawled, raising his arms into a stretch as he looked at the willow trees that flanked the river, their trailing branches swaying in the slight breeze. The thick, ropey scars that criss crossed his chest stretched, making her wonder yet again how he had truly been wounded so severely in the first place. “They just turn into whatever animal they feel like and off they go while the rest of us flounder. Alright, weaver, time to put everything you’ve learned together. Let me show you the front stroke.” He gave her a saucy wink when she groaned and flicked water at him, unamused by his ability to make anything sound dirty. Flicker joined her, a small glimmering wing hanging from his mouth the only remnant of the unfortunate dragonfly. She held him in her arms as she watched Van sink into the water and begin lazily swimming circles around them.

“Van good swimmer.” Flicker peeped, cocking his head to the side so he could watch both his friend and her at the same time. He licked his jaws so the wing fell in the water beside them, floating away in the gently ebbing current. “Arm, breathe, kick. Arm, breathe, kick.” Lyra followed the man’s progress, watching him lift his head every time his left arm rose from the water, taking a breath each time. She nodded, seeing what Flicker meant as Van finally came to a stop before her, grinning at the pair as he flipped his lilac hair out of his face. They’d both need to rinse off in clean water, she thought as she reached up and pulled a water weed out of his scraggly goatee.

“See? Easy enough. Wanna try? I’ll keep my hands on ya so you don’t go anywhere.” Flicker spied Oristin and Crétin coming from the farmhouse they were sharing during their stay in the Valley and shot off towards them, his tiny claws catching Lyra in the stomach. They broke off from their intense conversation and waved, dressed to join them in the river. It had been good for all of them to get off of the top of the mountain and into the peaceful, sunny valley of Pandaria. Even the normally offensive Crétin had laid off from needling Lyra, paying for their stay with performances for the silk farmers and weavers. Master Silkstrand had dove head first into the craft of his brethren, explaining in great detail to a fascinated Lyra how silk production worked. It had been pleasant, waking up every morning to the scent of the mulberry fields under the dew, knowing she would be allowed to sketch the beautiful scenery to her heart’s content while she was here. Only her swimming and riding lessons had continued, making her turn back to the violet man beside her.

“You’ll keep your hands off the goods is what you’ll do,” she signed good naturedly, her hands a blur. It earned her a chuckle and a small punch in the shoulder from the tall man. Of her four trainers, she enjoyed his company and that of Master Silkstrand the most, though the grumpy Pandaren insisted on a layer of formality that was lost on the rogue. “I think I saw how you managed it.”

“Give it a go, then.” He urged as Oristin and Crétin slipped into the river behind him, their soft conversation washing over the pair of them like waves. “I won’t let ya drown.” 

“Thanks ever so.” She replied, sarcasm in every line of her body. A faint feeling of giddiness filled her as she took a breath and sank into the water, feeling Van’s hands around her waist to keep her steady. Awkwardly she kicked her feet and began pulling herself through the water, raising her face in time with her right arm. It was more difficult than the kaldorei had made it look, though her thrashing attempts soon smoothed out a bit as she found the rhythm. Feeling more confident, she raised her head too soon and opened her mouth to breathe before it cleared the water, inhaling a bit of liquid. Van’s hands tightened around her waist, pulling her upright as she began to thrash and cough, thumping her on the back to help her get the water out.

“You were doin’ alright for a minute there.” She coughed and nodded, tears streaming down her face. This is why I hate swimming, she thought as she turned and spit what little came up well away from her. At least if I fall off a horse I only get a few bumps and bruises instead of choking to death. “Just a matter of putting it all together and getting used to it now.” 

“Couldn’t have done it without your help.” She signed once she finally caught her breath, her wheezing evening out into something less ragged. He thumped her on the back one final time, his large hands practically toppling her face first into the river again.

“Just doin’ my job. Besides, I get an eyeful as a fringe benefit.” There was a tender look on his face when he said the last words, his eyes not on her but on Oristin and Crétin who were racing one another to the falls at the head of the river and back. When he caught Lyra’s amused look he coughed, his voice going stern as he turned back to their lesson. “Alright, try again, Lyr.”

After several rough starts, she found herself acclimating to the new style of swimming, though she was a long way from being as comfortable with it as the three rogues who swam with her. Crétin demonstrated an uncanny ability to hold her breath for several minutes under water, mentioning eventually that she had a cantrip she used for that very purpose that she would teach Lyra later. Oristin showed her a modified style of swimming that kept her on her back, which she found indefinitely more comfortable when she tried it. The sun was beginning its lazy descent beyond the distant mountains when she finally indicated that she needed a break, her arms and legs feeling like overcooked noodles from the workout. Despite the new muscles she had put on, she still felt as if she would never have the stamina to match her teachers. 

“You’re doing well.” Oristin remarked as she and Van finally climbed out of the water as the sun began to dip below the distant mountain ridges. He tossed them each a sun warmed towel from where he sat on a rock at the edge of the river, sunning himself like the fairy dragon who laid beside him. He looked thoughtful as he watched her start unbraiding her hair so she could dry it. Crétin caught his look and rolled her eyes, joining Van to help him towel himself off. “We’ll be here another couple of days so you’ll be able to get some more practice in.” 

“Now there’s a gorgeous view,” Van said merrily, snagging Crétin around the waist as she giggled and pulled the towel over his head. When he untangled himself, he traded amused glances with Oristin and added, “Lyr’ll be swimmin’ like a fish in no time.” He leaned down so Crétin could twist his hair up into its customary sloppy bun, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek after by way of thanks. She shook her own hair out, careful of the tentacles that Lyra knew were likely as sensitive as her own. 

“We’ll toss her in downstream of the hozen village when we get back to the hooch to see how she handles colder water and rougher currents before sending her home.” Crétin replied thoughtfully, putting her hands on her hips as she regarded Lyra. Her lithe, muscular form sported several scars around her wrists and ankles, as if she had been bound for a long period of time in some way. When she spotted Lyra eyeing them, she crossed her arms, hiding her wrists from view. “If I had it my way, I’d bring her out to Kun-Lai and toss her in some glacier runoff, but the Master says it would be a waste of time.”

“If you do end up trying to kill me,” Lyra signed sardonically at the other woman, “I beg you just slit my throat while in the comfort of my own bed instead of trying to freeze me to death.” The men laughed, knowing how difficult it was for Lyra to get and stay warm. The Void entropy that corrupted her seemed different than whatever corruption had spread throughout Crétin’s body.

“Don’t you fret, little songbird. If I wanted you dead, you’d be six feet under already.” Crétin’s eyes tracked a family of cranes as they soared overhead before turning back to the group. “Too much of an inconvenience to drag the Master away from the silk farm for the steppes anyhow.” 

“Thought we’d have to do the same for you, Lyr.” Van elbowed Lyra teasingly while she wrapped her towel around herself and slid her feet into the bamboo sandals she had been given by their hosts. She elbowed him back as they began the walk back to the silk farm across the rolling hills of the Valley, her sore muscles protesting every step. Lyra closed her eyes for a moment and stretched, enjoying the soft scent of the flowers underfoot and the warmth of the sun on her skin despite the ache that plagued her body. “Your eyes near about popped outta your head when you saw all that silk.”

“It may be cloth to you, but to me it is a pirate’s hoard. I am here to work, not to play. I will come back on my own to ogle the goods.” Lyra smiled back, thinking a little wistfully of her own swashbuckling friend who would happily steal every scrap of silk in the place without a second thought just to prove he could. Flicker flew in loops overhead, croaking his pleasure as Crétin leapt onto Van’s back, laughingly telling him to carry her home. Oristin ignored them and watched Lyra’s hands spell out each word, his brows furrowed with thought.

“You know, you’re getting so good at signing that we may be able to convince the Master to lift the silencing spell on you.” He said thoughtfully as Van began to run, Crétin whooping from her perch on his back. “You’ve mastered that, written codes, his weaving and embroidery well enough. We’ve only a bit left to teach you, really.” Lyra watched a family of deer frantically leap away from the two rogues who ran ahead of them, Flicker’s tiny form a pop of color against their dun hides as he darted among them. After a moment of thought, she shook her head, giving Oristin a rueful look that he returned with a shy smile of his own.

“No, better to keep it on.” She replied, her hands slowly forming the words as Syvanel and Crétin dropped back to join them. The contortionist slid from the man’s back, watching Lyra’s reply with a smirk. “It is better to practice now and really drive it home rather than lose it because I fell out of habit too quickly.” 

“You aren’t as empty headed as you seem.” Crétin’s words were meant to be cutting, but Lyra let them slide off of her, smiling politely in response. “How shocking for us all.”

“You’re the only one who thinks I am stupid.” Lyra replied, her eyes sparking, though she refused to allow the other woman the satisfaction of making her lose her temper. She had come a long way in controlling it since her slip up during her first week of training. “One day I would like to know why.” She kept her eyes on Crétin’s until the other woman finally looked away, slinging her towel over her shoulder so she could run ahead of them to beat them all to the bathhouse.

“Don’t take it personal.” Van’s voice was soft enough that only she and Oristin could hear. “She’s touchy about anyone involved with folk who were at the Black Temple.”

“She was at the Black Temple?” Lyra watched the woman disappear under the lip of a hill. Oristin shook his head severely, his ponytail flipping loose from his shoulder, a clear warning not to ask. “Forget I said anything.”

“She might tell you someday.” The scholar replied, though doubt riddled his voice. “Don’t be surprised if she never warms up to you while you’re with the demon hunter.”

“For the last time, we are just friends.” Irritation flooded Lyra when both men smirked knowingly at one another. “Forget it, none of you believe me.”

“Ah, young love.” Van drawled teasingly, flicking his hair out of his face with an impatient jerk of his chin. He waved to the Pandaren who were ranking mulberry leaves and flowers for the silk worms in the growing pits. “You’re in denial.” 

No, just scared there won’t be anything to come home to, she thought back, though her hands remained still at her sides. Her prolonged absence and forced silence was sure to weigh on their relationship. She dismissed that concern, knowing it would be another few weeks before she could even think to face it head on. There were other important matters at hand that would ensure her continued survival with the Uncrowned. Her eyes lit upon Master Silkstrand where he sat meditating on the porch of the house where they had been staying, his bearded face turned up to the warmth of the sun. He opened one glacier blue eye and smiled at them, yawning widely.

“Swimming like a fish yet, little weaver?” He chuckled when she shook her head and hurried passed him to grab a fresh set of clothing so she could wash the lingering murky water off of herself in the bath house before the men could join. “Just as well. You will be traveling to another village tomorrow for sketching opportunities. Oristin will escort you.” A scowling Crétin walked up, rubbing her hair dry with a towel. She stopped when she heard the Master mention Oristin, giving the sin’dorei a look loaded with disgust that Lyra couldn’t help but notice. Instead she excused herself, making use of the empty bathhouse as voices rose behind her.

Not my problem, she thought as she scrubbed herself clean, donning a deep grey silk robe that the Master had crafted for her. Violet threads interspersed among the different shades of grey had given it a shimmery look like Void smoke in the fog. The embroidered belt further lent to the feel of smoke and fog, the cloud pattern almost whimsical in its meandering path along the silk. It had been a lovely surprise and an item she would cherish forever. She carefully put it on over her fresh clothing, arranging it so it hung slightly off her shoulders to help ward off the night’s chill. Her heavy curls were twirled up in a decorative knot so they wouldn’t get the silk wet, fixed them into place with two plain metal hair pins that doubled as punch daggers. It was rather nice having a patroness, she thought wryly as she exited the bathhouse, leaving it clear for the men who waited outside.

“There is hot water left.” She gestured to Van, who groaned with relief as he pushed his way into the still warm room. 

“Good, I’m itchin’ like a bear with burrs up its bum,” he complained, his hair loose around his shoulders. Someone, Crétin she suspected, had taken the time to untangle it before sending him over. Oristin said nothing, sketching lightly on a map made of bamboo fibers with a pen. When he heard Van he looked up, doing a slight double take when Lyra signed curiosity over the map.

“Our path for tomorrow.” He replied softly, turning it so she could better see the track he had plotted in his utilitarian script. “We’ll go cross country for a while before picking up the road to New Cifera.” He rolled the map up and handed it to her with a tiny flourish, his eyes sparkling. “Take this back to the house for me?” She nodded and accepted it, tucking it under her arm to keep it away from her dirty clothing, heading back to the farmhouse. The gentle sounds of night began to rise around her, the ever present cricket songs increasing their volume as they greeted the coming darkness. The stars overhead looked like diamonds on velvet, making her realize just how much she had missed seeing them while they were obscured by the mists in the mountains. Master Silkstrand stood on the porch, shooing small flames to the lanterns that waited there as she approached, his greying face content with happiness.

“And so another day ends, little weaver.” He opened the glass door on another lantern and pointed, a flame sprouting from the end of his finger to neatly light the candle within. Lyra dropped her dirty clothing in a hamper just inside the door, laying Oristin’s map beside it out of the way before joining him again. “Tell me, what is on your mind?”

“I have missed seeing the stars,” she signed to him, ensuring her hands were lit so he could see her reply. “I may take a walk, if that is permitted, so that I may better see them.” 

“Let us both go peer into the heavens, lest we find inspiration there.” Lyra motioned for him to wait and entered the house, grabbing a sheet of waterproofed canvas she had spied earlier so that they could sit on the grass without getting dirty. The Master was dressed in one of his elaborate robes, this time one in a sage green embroidered with leaping fishes in blues and creams. It would undoubtedly be stained if they ended up sitting on the ground. He chuckled when she showed it to him. Seeing what she carried in her hands made the old Pandaren chuckle and offer her his arm, which she accepted with an impertinent curtsey.

“Wise as ever. Now, let me tell you the stories my people have for the stars.” 

\------------

Her dreams were full of twisted monstrosities and nightmarish landscapes brimming with blood and death. Teeth and claws grew where they shouldn’t, tentacles rising in the distance taller than any mountains she had ever witnessed in her life. Chaos ensued as humanoid figures, oddly normal compared to the contorted hellscape they fought through, attacked in earnest. Lyra held her breath as an armored figure was lifted off the ground by a tentacled monster with too many eyes to count, their panicked cries filling her ears as they were slowly crushed. When a gentle hand nudged her awake she came up gasping, her eyes wild in the dawning light.

“You alright?” Oristin whispered, his voice concerned. Lyra drew in deep lungfuls of air, trying in vain to calm her frantically pounding heart. The whispers had been quiet and almost peaceful over the past few weeks, but now clamored uneasily at the back of her mind. “Crétin woke in a similar mood.” 

“Nightmares.” She gestured curtly, slipping out of her bed. Quiet, she mentally told the whispers when they gave off a sour note that made her wince. They complied, but barely. “Horrible ones.” 

“Still up to ride?” Twin snores interrupted him from the sleeping mats beside hers, making Oristin roll his eyes and toss a set of clothing at her. Van and Master Silkstrand were loud enough to wake the dead, despite being dead to the world themselves while sleeping. Lyra accepted them and shooed him away, signing that she would join him as soon as she was changed. It didn’t take her long to dress and arm herself, the hidden daggers and leather gear feeling almost as comfortable to her now as her dresses and corsets. A pack she had prepared the night before waited for her at the end of her bed filled with what she would need for the day. She tiptoed out, her riding boots in one hand and the pack in another, taking a few moments to clean her face and teeth as Oristin led the horses around. She checked her pack while he waited patiently, ensuring her sketchbook and pencils were securely tucked away before putting on her boots. 

There was a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye, making her look up to the branches of the tree just outside their temporary accommodations. Crétin sat motionless in the fork of a tree branch, her eyes narrowed as she stared off toward the distant mountains. The short tentacles in her hair writhed with the violets, blacks, blues, and silvers of the Void, making Lyra wonder what she sensed. Her own whispers told her nothing, merely shifted with unease after weeks of disuse.

“Be wary.” The contortionist’s voice held a hint of uncustomary concern. She turned and looked down at them, her rounded features impassively detached from any emotion. “Something’s up. Something big.”

“Should we not go?” Oristin asked, handing Lyra the reins to the chestnut mare named Nutmeg she had been riding during their stay. His mare, a roan named Peaches, stamped and shook her mane, irritable at being saddled so early. He patted her to sooth her as he watched the void elf in the tree. “Say the word and we’ll stay.” 

“No. I don’t know what it is. Just that something’s wrong.” Lyra understood the frustration in Crétin’s tone. Her own forays into peering into the Void using her corrupted eye had rarely ever given her straight answers or solid results in the past. There were too many possibilities, and she had never been very good at sorting them out. The contortionist switched her gaze to Lyra and added, “If ever there was a day to not reach for the Void, I think it’d be today.” 

“Bad dreams?” Lyra signed after pushing her horse’s head away from her when the mare tried to use her as a scratching post. “I had nightmares.” Crétin grimaced and nodded, her nose wrinkling with distaste.

“Bad dreams, bad thoughts, bad feelings.” She said emphatically. “Be on your guard. Take weapons.” Oristin lifted a flap on the back of his saddle, showing her the two swords that were hidden there, and gestured to a pistol strapped to his leg. Crétin nodded and turned back to her vigil, her eyes distant again as they watched the horizon. Lyra consulted her whispers and received that same sense of unease that Crétin was describing, but nothing more. Something was going on, sending ripples throughout the Void, but nothing was explained. 

“You need practice galloping and the plains here are perfect for it. Got everything you need?” Oristin said conversationally, as if the strange talk with Crétin hadn’t occurred moments ago. Lyra nodded, slinging her pack over her shoulders and settling it comfortably so it wouldn’t put her off balance while they rode. “Good, I’ll be taking you somewhere you’ll be able to draw for a while.” He secured his own pack and checked a set of saddlebags that were stuffed with scrolls and papers before mounting, his horse restive and clearly ready to run. Lyra mounted in a similar fashion, settling herself comfortably on the mare’s back. Unlike her swimming lessons, Lyra had taken to riding with an ease that had surprised and amused all of her trainers. It helped that she adored horses and had always wanted to learn, she supposed as they trotted from the farmyard out into the open plains. Crétin watched them go from her forlorn perch, her gaze a heavy weight on Lyra’s shoulders.

Oris turned his horse northward, calming it when it spooked at a family of quillrats darting into the underbrush. Van had jokingly said Oristin was born with lead in his bum, and watching the way he easily handled the restive animal made her realize the night elf was right. It surprised her how at ease he seemed in the saddle for someone so academically inclined. When they finally reached a long, clear slope, he raised his hand and brought it down in a chopping motion, nudging his horse into a ground covering gallop. Lyra did the same, her heart in her throat at the feeling of freedom thundering across the plains gave her. Her curls streamed behind her getting hopelessly tangled as they raced, but for once she didn’t care. All that mattered was the connection she shared with the horse, their bodies moving in perfect harmony with one another as they sped through the morning. 

Oristin waved at a Pandaren shepherd as they passed, leading them around the flock of goats he tended so they wouldn’t spook them. He only slowed their pace when they finally reached the packed dirt and rock crossroads, bringing them down to a brisk trot and then a walk, allowing all of them to catch their breath. Lyra patted her horse affectionately, giddy from the long run. The sin’dorei beside her was just as flushed with excitement as she, his ears quivering as he laughed.

“You ride like you’re a centaur,” he laughed when she sent a rude gesture his way, knowing exactly what they looked - and worse - smelled like. “Nah, nah don’t mistake me. You took to riding like you were born in the saddle.” He stood in his stirrups to check the road sign at the crossroads, pointing down a path that was more packed earth than a road. “We’re headed to New Cifera. There’s lotus ponds you’ll want to see. They’re a fairly popular place for artists to visit, so it would make sense for you to visit them at least once while you were here.”

“Lead on then,” she gestured, nudging her horse to follow him. The road went from rock to dirt, and finally opened up to a small village. Children laughed as they played in the center under drooping willow trees, careful of the horses. Adults came out and waved at them, though they didn't approach when they saw Oristin. He was known here, she thought. A large fish surrounded by bags and barrels full of grain stood in the town center, lit sticks of incense filling the air with pungent scent while making it seem like it had smoke billowing from its mouth. Lyra winced when the wind changed, bringing the scent of fish to her delicate nose, making her sneeze politely. Oristin led them down a path that curved up and to the right, passing several smaller pools filled with lotus blooms. They climbed the trail until they finally reached the peak, wide pools riddled with dark green plants and brilliantly pink flowers stretching before them. He stopped them for a moment, watching Lyra’s face as she took it all in, the beauty stunning her for a moment.

“The Pools of Purity,” Oristin said reverently. “The waters here are some of the cleanest in the whole of Pandaria. Perfect for growing lotuses, though the waters tend to encourage growth of other creatures and plants too.” He chuckled as he dismounted, stopping his horse from pawing the ground. “They had an issue with frog spawn and turtles a few years back I helped out with.” 

“They’re beautiful.” Lyra replied, her hands slowly going through the motions as she looked around. Pandaren farmers greeted them cheerfully from their wading rounds in the pools, blossoms spilling out over the edges of their baskets in every shade of pink imaginable. An adolescent Pandaren approached Oristin, offering to take their mounts for them while they were here. He ruffled the girl’s hair and exchanged his reins and several gold coins with her. Lyra did the same, giving the girl a broad smile since she was unable to tender her thanks verbally. Oristin slung his saddlebags and swords over his shoulders and nodded to her, expecting her to follow him. Lyra smiled at the smudges of paint and ink splashed on the rock he led her to, the packed dirt around its base showing it was a popular place for creatives to set up and work. Her companion groaned as he plopped himself carelessly on the dirt, flipping open one bag. The ream of papers he pulled out was thick enough to make Lyra raise her eyebrows with amusement.

“Research papers,” he said shortly as he donned his spectacles. “I keep up with the times even when I’m in the field.” Lyra settled herself next to him, pulling her own bag off her back. Her fingers itched to start drawing the scene before her, ideas for clothing inspired by the deep green leaves and stunning pink flowers already flitting through her thoughts. Pandaria was home to some of the most beautiful landscapes she had ever seen. From what Oristin had told her, the Vale was a sight to be seen when it wasn’t under siege by the Black Empire. Silently she vowed to come back, and maybe drag Alv with her.

“How responsible of you.” She teased back once she had everything set up. She smoothed the crease of her sketchbook to make the thick pages lay flat and gestured again. “What is it you do for the black market anyhow? You never said.” He shrugged as he flipped a page to a diagram of a Titan orb, squinting at the notes written around it. Lyra leaned over to look at it, impressed at the level of detail the artist had included.

“I’m a relic hunter. I specialize in Titan artifacts like this one. Mostly I get brought in to verify the authenticity of items brought in by others. Fakes and forgeries are rampant in the archeology world.” He tapped the swords he had laid within easy reach beside him. They had turned out to be forgeries after all, though they were exceptionally well made. Crétin had been furious. “Most of what we get will be fakes, but good ones, since the Kirin Tor and Explorers League like snapping up the good stuff the second it gets uncovered.” There was disgust there, an annoyance that clearly went deeper than a professional dislike.

“You don’t like them?.” Lyra dropped her pencil to ask her question, getting a rueful chuckle from him. He had been rather mum on the subject of his professional life. 

“Bronzebeard is a hack who destroys more Titan artifacts than he saves.” The sin’dorei replied flatly, flipping to another diagram that showed an intricate set of gears and springs, each neatly labeled. “It’s why I keep up with whatever drivel he publishes so I can figure out where he’s headed next to protect whatever site he seeks to destroy next. I might work for questionable people, but at least I protect the sites I find. He’s as bad as my old partner, that way.” He sounded sour. When Lyra glanced at him curiously, he shook his head.

“She ran off to Outland after the Sunwell was destroyed. Up and ran off a dig on me in Uldum. It was for the best in the end. We disagreed about a lot of things academically and personally, but she was family so…” Sadness creased his emerald eyes for a moment, his rough thumbs tapping the edge of the papers in his hands as he thought. When he caught her empathetic look he cleared his throat and flicked them into order. “What’s done is done. You should draw while you still have the light.” Lyra nodded and turned back to her own work, sketching first the lotus ponds to fix them firmly in her memory. Several dresses came next, as well as a design for a robe much like Master Silkstrand’s. Oristin picked at his bottom lip as he read, his eyes darting across the pages behind his thick glasses.

“You know,” he broke the silence, the lines around his eyes deepening for a moment, “I used to work with your father-in-law. It’s why we share the townhouse.” Lyra looked up from her book and tipped her chin toward him. She had guessed that was why he was her neighbor after learning of his black market ties. “We did business together but parted ways shortly before you got married. Didn’t come as much of a shock when you were given the townhouse.”

“I had wondered.” It made sense. Lanthon had insisted that she and the baby be kept far away from her father-in-law’s grasp, one of the only kindnesses he had extended to her in their tumultuous marriage. As awful as he had been, his father had been ten times worse.

“I am sorry.” Oristin’s voice was ladened with guilt. “I never really knew what was going on but… There were times when I was home that I heard something happening…” 

Anger filled her, cold and deadly. He knew about the abuse, the suffering she experienced at the hands of her husband and did nothing? They had shared a wall for almost two decades. Bitter betrayal filled her, testing her control. The whispers uncoiled slightly, their chimes encouraging her to take out her rage on the man beside her. Only their interest gave her a pause. They had been strangers, and she had never shown that there was anything wrong in public. She hadn’t been the most sociable of neighbors. Lanthon’s threats had kept her isolated from others. It was a tactic his father had used on his mother, and back then Lyra had been just as easily cowed. She shoved her resentment away, knowing it must have pained the gentle man beside her to be privy to that sort of abuse and do nothing. Lyra reached out and touched his shoulder lightly, shaking her head. 

“There was nothing anyone could have done.” Her hands were gentle with her response. “He would have turned his ire on anyone who tried to interfere, and then on us. You did well to stay away.” Forgiveness, she thought, was less about absolving the person who had caused harm. It was more absolution for one’s self to let go of the emotions that bogged one down. That had been one lesson she had learned during her time in Pandaria.

“Still. I just wanted you to know I was sorry.” He slid a thumbnail down the edge of one of the papers, his face grim. “Your son was a clever lad. The few times we talked were enjoyable.” The sad understanding in his body language resonated with her. “I was sorry to hear of his passing.”

“You spoke with him?” She never would have guessed. Perinth had been rather shy with strangers. They hadn’t interacted with their neighbor much, mostly out of fear. The few times that they had passed had been amiable, of course, but over the two decades she had lived there she could count on both hands how many times they had ever spoken. Her life had revolved around providing for Perinth and raising him, too afraid to associate with outsiders for fear of her husband’s anger.

“He found out I was a professor when he was barely knee high and bombarded me with questions about the Kirin Tor.” He laughed, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose with one finger. “He was a brilliant student from what I heard from his instructors. We spoke a few times over the garden wall, mostly about magic.” 

“He never said.” She flipped her pencil between her fingers after replying. The ache of the loss of him still crept up on her daily, catching her unaware. Discovering this detail about him after his death only added to it. The wounds left on her soul from his death would never heal. Oristin coughed awkwardly, laying aside the papers and pulling her into a one armed hug.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said gruffly, startling her. “Remember the good of your son. I know I do.” Stunned, she could do nothing but sit back and watch him turn back to his papers, a blush rising in her cheeks that mirrored the flush in his. He wasn’t the most affectionate person, even with his loved ones. Slowly, she turned back to her artwork, processing what he had told her. It meant a lot to hear about Perinth. Perhaps she should start talking about him again, she considered, reaching for a new color. Maybe that might banish the memory of his final moments.

She had just begun shading in the skirt of a dress when the whispers in the back of her mind gave an ear splitting shriek that shocked her to her core. Her hand convulsed, snapping the pencil in half as the sensation of an earthquake struck her mind. Soundlessly, she cried out, reaching up to clutch her head. Disorientation came in waves through her connection with the Void. Overwhelming, bright light tinged with shades of blue and gold blinded her before fading to absolute darkness. Swaying, she tried to make sense of what the whispers screamed over and over again in the emptiness where something evil had once been.

“Lyra?” Oristin’s voice broke through the confusion. She shook her head, her hands failing to explain what was wrong. Another wave of pain blinded her before she was struck with a sudden vision, silently screaming as she finally understood what the whispers were trying to tell her. Released from their claws, she retched, shaking like a nervous horse.

“Black Empire. Destroyed.” She finally managed to sign as a rumble rattled the physical world, emanating from the direction of the Vale. “Void angry.” He said nothing, stuffing all of their gear carelessly into their bags. The Pandaren around them chattered nervously, everyone exiting the pools knowing that earthquakes could turn the muddy bottoms into death traps if they stayed in them during aftershocks. Oristin barked an order in their language as Lyra retched again, her head feeling as if she had been concussed. The adolescent Pandaren brought their horses to them, her fright showing plainly on her face. Oristin slung all of their packs onto her horse and secured them. Lyra didn’t argue. She wasn’t in any state to debate him on anything, not when the whispers were fighting her for control. Her scar had shattered across her face, growing and retracting with every convulsion through the Void, seeping smoke around the edges. After weeks of disuse, it was back with a vengeance and ready to make itself known.

“You’re with me.” He said shortly when she stood, swaying on her feet. “You’re in no condition to ride and we need to get back to the others so I can go investigate. Mount up.” Silently, she complied, grateful for his arms around her when he mounted up behind her as the whispers sent yet another wave of blinding pain shooting across her temples. “Lean against me, there’s a good girl.”

They rode as fast as they dared back to the farm, alternating cantering and walking between the waves of nausea that wracked her. Several times they had to stop as aftershocks coursed through the land, making the horses dance nervously in place. Everyone they passed was asking what had happened, but Oristin ignored them all. Lyra continued to fight the whispers that tried to throw her into entropy. Wisps of Void flowed from her scar as they alternated between shrieking at her and enticing her to pick up her powers, to lash out and destroy. Grimly, she held on, refusing to give in to their demands. When they finally trotted into the farmyard, they were greeted by a frantic Master Silkstrand, his normally neat appearance in complete disarray. 

“What happened?” He demanded as he accepted Lyra’s semi-prone form from Oristin. He grimaced as a tendril of dark magic slithered over his hand, freezing it with a blast of ice from one paw. Lyra nodded gratefully, twisting her mind once again to banish the whispers back to where they belonged.

“Ny’alotha fell.” He replied shortly. One of the farm hands accepted the horses, promising to bring their packs to them later. “I need to make it to the Vale to see what happened, old paw. Do you have her?” When the Pandaren grunted and shifted her, she protested, forgetting that she couldn’t speak. “I’ll be back.”

“Do you want a portal?” Lyra convulsed, another wave of pain striking her, making her miss Oristin’s reply. The arms that held her up tightened around her, holding her steady. The whispers coiled, ready to strike again, though she grimly held them at bay. Any sign of weakness from her and they would take over entirely, demanding retribution of those who had destroyed the bastion of darkness that had been the Black Empire.

“Be safe,” the bear said as he watched his friend race toward the edge of the farm to summon his cloud serpent away from the easily startled livestock. “Come on, little weaver. Crétin was also struck down by the fall.” They made their slow way to the farmhouse, Lyra’s head throbbing with pain. Crétin was similarly affected, her body quivering where she lay curled up in Van’s arms. He rocked her gently while Flicker crooned at her, kissing her sweaty forehead each time she groaned. Helplessly, he looked up at Master Silkstrand when he helped lower Lyra to her bed, smoothing her grey curls away from her forehead.

“So the Corruptor finally got nuked into oblivion.” Crétin laughed weakly from behind Van’s arms. He shushed her, urging her to rest. She ignored him, peering over his biceps to check on Lyra. “About time they pulled it off.”

“You knew?” Master Silkstrand offered Lyra a cup of water, his paws gentle as they helped her sip. She sipped it gratefully, glad to wash the bile from her throat. Flicker floated over and wrapped his wings around her for a brief moment in what he called a fairy hug, his antenna slicked back so far along his back in fear that they nearly disappeared. She held him in her arms a moment, grateful for any sort of contact through her pain.

“That they were raiding the Black City? Anyone who had a connection with Him knew.” The contortionist replied, blinking back tears of pain as another aftershock wracked her frame. Flicker croaked in dismay as Lyra was similarly affected, her body shaking as the whispers shrieked. Crétin gritted her teeth until the pain passed, adding, “Cheers to the bloody bastards who pulled it off then.”

“Cheers to that,” Van echoed, kissing her forehead again as Flicker drifted back to her chest, making small comforting noises to his pained friend. He looked at the Pandaren that tended to Lyra, flicking a stray piece of hair out of his face. “We’ll need to send word, Liu.”

“Oristin is flying to the Vale now to investigate.” The reply was curt, loaded with worry. The Pandaren wet several lengths of cloth, gently placing it on Lyra’s forehead to help her headache. She patted his paw gratefully to show her thanks. “If it is true that the Black Empire has fallen, there will be much that needs to be done.” 

“Oristin will likely need to leave us, then.” The contortionist said, rubbing her temples. One of her tentacles coursed with black energy as she tried to draw on her shadow magics and failed. “You know he’ll want to recover any unguarded treasures that might have escaped the destruction.” A few moments passed without any aftershocks, making Lyra relax slightly. The whispers gave one final test of her control before subduing. There was the familiar sensation as her scar slowly retreated back into its normal channels, leaving a faint ache behind. Lyra sat up in her bed, gesturing to the Master when he made an effort to get her to lay back that the pain was slowly ebbing. Crétin echoed that, unwinding herself from Van’s lap with a tiny groan.

“Think the worst is over, pretty boy.” She said softly to her kaldorei protector. He stood with her, keeping one arm around her waist just in case she fell again. “We’ll need to check in with everyone.” Her eyes lit on Lyra where she sat, her head in her hands. “Surprised you got hit so hard, but you were pretty close to the Vale. Your corruption isn’t like mine.” 

“You will write letters to all those you care for. We can break the silence just this once.” Master Silkstrand said, making Crétin scowl. “This is not some small storm, Cealia. If she does not contact those who care about her, they will come hunting. It is a risk. The Raven is not a man to be trifled with.” The contortionist nodded slowly, turning to bury her face once again in Van’s chest. His words penetrated the fog of agony that was slowly lifting from Lyra’s mind faster than his use of the rogue’s real name.

“You will let me write to…” When Master Silkstrand nodded, she gave him a tiny smile to know how much it meant to her. It had been weeks since she had been allowed to contact Alvenyr. She had been allowed to send him a note telling him that an opportunity had arisen for her to visit Pandaria when she first arrived, but had received no response. She hadn't expected one, but the silence had made her wonder if he hadn't written back or if her mail had been withheld. They had been that insistent that there be no outside distractions.

“Write a short note to Rum and Raven, letting them know that you are safe. Write it in code. As for the letter to your beau, keep it vague and general. Do not reveal overmuch. I will read it before you send it, just to be safe.” The whispers slowly began quieting back into their usual unobtrusive chiming in the back of her mind as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, wanting to get started immediately. There was so much so longed to tell them all. She staggered to the table, signing her thanks to Master Silkstrand as he laid parchment and a pen before her. Her hands still trembled slightly as she wrote in code, but she was pleased to see that it was at least correct in all ways otherwise.

_Raven,_

_I am safe. The fall struck me hard, but I am recovering. Please reassure those who need it that I am well. Be home as soon as I am able._

“Sign it, ‘Weaver’.” Master Silkstrand said as he read it over her shoulder. “That will be your code name from now on.” Lyra flushed with pleasure despite the lingering headache, flattered to finally have her code name. Their calling her weaver had made her suspect that would be their choice, but she was happy with it nonetheless. Master Silkstrand took the missive and folded it into an intricate shape, his hands sparkling as he laid thick enchantments on the paper. When he finished, the paper raven ruffled its wings and took off, heading out the door and disappearing from view. 

“Liu, this gives us an opportunity.” Crétin said harshly, wobbling on her feet. She looked downright predatory despite her trembling. She withdrew one of her knives and checked the edge, nearly dropping it when another round of convulsions wracked her slight frame. Her skin darkened for a moment, making her hiss. Lyra watched out of the corner of her eye, wondering if whatever had corrupted her was taking a hold of the rogue in the absence of the Old God. “Theories will have gotten more backlash than us, since he was directly connected to the Corruptor-”

“You are not going hunting.” Syvanel’s anger filled the room like a cloud. “Not in your condition. I know you want revenge-” She silenced him by squeezing his waist, wincing when it jostled her head. He plucked the knife out of her hands before she could cut herself and stuck it in his own belt, whisking her up into his arms so he could put her in bed.

“Stop that.” She swatted at him irritably, but stopped protesting when he settled down next to her, his arms around her. Flicker drifted over, carrying a healing potion in his tiny claws. When she took it without protest, he did the same for Lyra. She sipped it as she considered the blank page before her, listening to Crétin as she considered what she would write to Alv. “Send the others out. If they fail, I’ll go finish the job once we send this one home.” 

“Do you think he’ll truly be vulnerable?” Lyra asked when Crétin’s azure eyes lit upon her. “He was powerful when he attacked me.” The rogue nodded, fiddling with the pendant at her neck as she considered her answer. Van tossed her empty potion bottle to Flicker, who caught it with a cheep and flew it to the door. He tucked Crétin beside him as Lyra felt her own potion go to work, easing the lingering headache. Besides a few angry discordant noises, her whispers had quieted again. From how the lines of concentration on her forehead had smoothed, she suspected Crétin’s had as well.

“Theories… Gave almost everything of himself to N’zoth.” Crétin finally said finally, leaning against Van with a sigh. His scarred hands stroked her arm and hair, offering what comfort he could. “Most of his power is borrowed, corruption that came directly from the Old God himself. He’s more a creature than man now, thanks to the Void.” She turned her face away from Lyra, her next words so soft she almost didn’t catch them. “He wasn’t always that way.”

There was a thump as Master Sinkstrand sat next to Lyra, his face stern as he wrote a missive in code calling for the tracking down and execution of the man under discussion. For all he was a jolly mage and sedate tailor most days, it startled her whenever she realized that he was at the center of the Uncrowned’s operations in Pandaria. There could be no mercy, she thought as she watched him form duplicates of the missive, folding each one into tiny origami ravens that flitted out the door. He cracked his knuckles and stared pointedly at the blank page before her, a silent reminder that she should write. She turned the pen in her hand as she considered it, not noticing when the farm hand came in with the bags from their horses. Master Silkstrand rose and sorted through them, laying her sketchbook next to her on the table before handling Oristin’s papers. Slowly, she began writing, each word forming in neat black ink beneath her hand.

_Alvenyr,_

_Please know that I am safe and well out of danger. My travels throughout Pandaria have kept me out of trouble, though I am learning much about silk and history from the people here. The fall affected me, as is to be expected, but my recovery was swift. Please be reassured that I am safe and well out of harm._

She looked over at her sketchbook and flipped it open, using her belt knife to remove one of the pages. The drawing of the mulberry fields at sunrise would be a fitting accompaniment to whatever letter she sent. They would be leaving to go back to the mountains well before the letter would reach him, so even if he did decide to try to find her, she would be long gone. She laid it aside and continued.

_This place is so full of stories and legends that it is difficult to keep it all straight. There are times I catch myself wondering if you know any of them. According to some of the masters here, the night elves did have a relationship with the Pandaren before the Sundering, which I find fascinating. Perhaps when I come home, we can look into it?_

_As far as coming home, I hope to be back soon. Have you received any of my other letters? I do hope they were not waylaid in the post. Enclosed is a picture of the mulberry fields where I stayed learning about silk production. I hope to show you more, and perhaps come back here with you someday in the future._

_Be well, beloved._

_Sinnlyra_

Finished, she signed it with a flourish, wishing she could add more. There was so much she longed to share with him, but knew the dangers were too great. Did he even miss her? Was he angered by her absence? She couldn’t help but wonder as she passed the letter to Master Silkstrand for review. She capped the pen and began twisting it in her hands, trying not to succumb to that line of thought. There was nothing to be gained by constantly worrying about what cannot be changed and handled right now, she reminded herself sternly. The Pandaren smoothed his mustache as he read, finally tapping the paper with a finger.

“A good idea to mention other letters, despite your not writing them. It will make it seem as if they had been lost, not that you were forced into silence.” He grinned at her and folded it and the drawing into the shape of a crane, his magic filling and animating the papers. Regretfully, she watched it float away, hating the lie. Once she was away from this place she would tell him the truth of the matter, she decided. There would be consequences for her absence, but she would face them squarely.

“Sometimes a lie is better than the truth, little weaver.” A heavy paw squeezed her shoulder for a moment before lifting. His lined face was filled with gentle understanding when she looked up at him, blinking slowly. The crows feet that wreathed his eyes deepened for a moment. “We protect those we love with our secrets.”

But where is the line? She wondered as she flipped the pages of her sketchbook. Where do the lies end and the truth begin? The Void was filled with thousands of possibilities. Each one held truth and lies in equal measure, because who could truly know what the truth was when the future wasn't set in stone? She stood abruptly, shaking her head when everyone looked at her, picking up her sketchbook and pencils. After the events of the day she needed time to think. Leaving them all to their conversation, she left the farmhouse, closing the door firmly behind her.

Standing outside in the warmth of the afternoon sun helped banish the lingering chill that plagued her. She focused, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, identifying the scents that drifted on the wind. Floral notes of mulberry, the richness of warm wood, astringency of fresh cut grass, and a hint of clean cloth had become a familiar, welcome perfume during the few days they had spent on the farm. The wind brought the sound of chatter in Pandaren, rustling of the leaves overhead, and the gentle hush of grass blowing in its wake to her ears. She wrapped all of these sensations around her, soaking in the peace they brought as much as the warmth of the sun, calming herself. Identifying her surroundings had become such a second nature that it felt almost instinctive. The newly heightened awareness had done much to center her in the world. And now, without the threat of the Black Empire looming in the distance, it seemed like everything was a little bit brighter.


End file.
